


6lbs 13ozs

by yourpricelessadvice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bringing Home Baby, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kidfic, M/M, New Parents, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7076368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourpricelessadvice/pseuds/yourpricelessadvice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis have a daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 6lbs 13ozs

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, they're married and their family name is Tomlinson. I'm not trying to be heteronormative at all, I just like that surname more and in my head, Louis was the one to propose so.... nothing is intended to offend and I hope it’s never taken that way.
> 
> I hope in the midst of all this baby drama, this fic is a bit of light relief. It’s a tooth-decaying, syrupy sugary fluff-fest, please enjoy as such!
> 
> I read up a tiny bit on the adoption process but this is meant to be light and fluffy not too nitty-gritty so please allow some creative imagination with this.
> 
> If you liked it please let me know! Thank you!

"So..." Louis says slowly, looking from the car seat to Harry and then back at the car seat. "Do we...leave her or move her?"

"The books all said you shouldn't leave them to sleep in their car seats, we should move her." Harry says firmly, though his expression is hesitant and his eyes flicker about the room, evidencing his uncertainty.

Louis looks at him with a furrowed brow before crouching down to peer in at the car seat. That beautiful newborn smell still blows him away. The petrified silence that he and Harry share amplifies the snuffly little breaths that are coming from the seat. Tentatively, he reaches down to move aside the buttermilk yellow cashmere blanket before snatching his hand away as if the material had burnt him. He jumps back up to his full height. "I'm scared, you do it."

"I... I can't, I don't wanna..." Harry holds up his hands in defence and turns his body away.

"H, she can’t stay in there forever. She’ll be waking up for a feed soon, anyway."

"Maybe we should get a bottle ready now, just in case?"

Louis knows this is just delay tactics, but he must admit he'd rather be prepared for any eventuality rather than left holding the baby. "Fine, good idea."

He follows Harry into the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder twice to make sure an errant gust of wind hadn't come in and whipped up the car seat into its grip. Harry sets the changing bag down on the kitchen side and turns over the Velcro flap.

"Okay, is everything there?" Louis asks as Harry peers into the bag. Harry's eyes bulge as if to say _'how should I know?'_.

They both go to grab the tub of formula at the same time, so Harry steps back and lets Louis take charge.

"Three scoops..." He says softly to himself, nodding towards the kettle. "Flick it on to boil, love?"

Harry nods obligingly and scuttles over to the kettle, flicking the switch. The thing is, it’s as old as the hills and rattles, shakes and whistles on its base as it boils.

"Fill a jug with cold." Louis says next, as he levels off the last scoop of formula and tips it into the bottle. It’s such a small bottle; only holds up to 5ozs, and Harry had assumed it was just the practice one or something and had been quite surprised when Jay had informed him it was the one they should be using.

He places the jug down as the kettle comes to a boil. Louis shakes the bottle wildly like a barman with a mixer.

"Always knew my years of alcohol consumption would come in handy one day!" He says with a grin. Harry smiles fondly at him as he dunks the bottle in the jug of cold water to cool.

"To cool down?" Harry asks, his eyes still drawn on the jug with sheer concentration.

“Got it in one, babe!” Louis says softly with a nod. He shuffles himself up onto the countertop and motions for Harry to step in.

Obligingly, Harry settles in between his knees. This position is one of his favourites, to be on the same level as Harry. He drapes his arms over Harry's shoulders; loosely clasping his hands together behind his back. Harry slips his hands under the fabric of Louis' baggy grey t-shirt and rests his fingertips just under the waist band of his Puma trackies. "Can you believe it’s finally happened?"

"I still feel like I'm dreamin'..."

Gently, Harry pinches the swell of skin where Louis' lower back begins its curve. "Definitely real."

Their heads inch forward at the same to meet in the middle with a soft kiss. Their noses clash and their minds are both on other things, so it’s only a small kiss but it’s reassuring and comforting and reminds both of them that no matter how scary the next few weeks or months are going to be, they have each other. Louis nuzzles into Harry's neck, reminding him how tired he is himself and how tired Louis must be. The books had all said sleep when baby does, but so far it’s been impossible.

"Is it ready?" Harry asks, referring to the milk.

"Few more minutes. Cuddles..." Louis wraps his legs around Harry to lock him in place. He uses the connection to pull himself closer to the edge of the unit; closer to Harry. They keep in silence as their breathing slows into the perfect sync.

"Love you." Harry mumbles against Louis’ chest, the material soft on his cheek.

"I love you too, babe."

They keep like that for at least the next three minutes. It’s blissfully silent and Louis can feel his eyes getting heavy as he rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. Reluctantly, he licks his dry lips and drags himself up. “I think we should get her up now.”

He vaults off the unit and grabs the bottle from the jug that’s now turned lukewarm, shaking droplets over the floor as he goes.

He can’t help but smile as he watches Harry try to negotiate the car seat. He’s lifted it up onto the dinner table to get a better angle, and the blanket has been removed. Tiny little legs that barely reach the top of the seat twitch at the sudden exposure, and with her eyes tightly screwed shut she brings up an arm with a whimper.

“It’s all right, little bubby,” Harry says softly, softer than Louis has ever heard before. His hands fiddle with the straps and Louis can sense the tremble in his husband’s hunched shoulders. “I’m here, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby girl.”

Harry pauses after he gets the straps undone, as if he’s waiting for her to sit up and climb out herself. In reality, he’s just psyching himself up to actually pick her up.

Louis falls into place by Harry’s side, squeezing his bicep for reassurance. “Alright, love?”

Harry hums noncommittally and with a deep breath slips his left hand under baby’s back and his right hand cups her hatted head. Her little arms and legs shoot outwards as Harry lifts her up and tucks her into his chest. He’s all elbows and sharp edges as he holds their delicate little human in his arms. Her legs tuck up and the expanse of her back is smaller than the length of Harry’s forearm. All six pounds and thirteen ounces of her curl up against Harry as she roots against his chest to no obvious avail.

“Dadda’s got your milk, baby girl.” Harry coos and takes his eyes off her for one second to locate Louis.

“Here y’are, love.” Louis hands the bottle to Harry, wondering if he’ll remember the wrist temperature check trick that his mum had shown them. Harry’s face looks apologetic, silently asking Louis if he minds him having the first feed at home.

Louis smiles reassuringly and sets himself down on the coffee table facing Harry and baby, so he can watch the whole thing.

She must smell the milk because her little blue eyes open and she begins to fuss for every second that the bottle is not in her mouth. Sure enough, Harry tests the milk before giving it to her, and she calms instantly once she begins guzzling.

“Not so bad, is it?” Louis asks softly as Harry finally tears his eyes away from their daughter.

“Remarkably easy.” Harry muses, his soft smirk still able to flip Louis’ stomach after all these years.

After an ounce and a half they stop to wind baby and it’s then that the less glamorous side of parenting is revealed to them.

“I don’t think you can really call it sick.” Harry points out as a puddle of streaky white liquid congeals and starts running down the back of his shoulder. “It doesn’t smell like sick. Doesn’t smell good, but doesn’t smell like sick either.”

“I’m glad it was you not me.” Louis says, holding the tip of his tongue between his teeth as Harry shoots him daggers.

 

//

 

She is asleep again before she even finishes the bottle. Louis wonders how drinking, lying down, whilst asleep is comfortable at all, but she seems to enjoy it.

“Where shall I put her?” Harry asks, his features back to pure bewilderment.

“You make her sound like a candle or an ornament, babe!” Louis chuckles out loud but she doesn’t stir, luckily.

“Shut up, y’know what I mean!” Harry pouts as he uses his legs to get up off the sofa. “The basket, yeah?”

“Yeah, then she can lie flat.” Louis nods and follows Harry instinctively towards the bassinette in the corner of the living room. Nothing like becoming a new parent to turn you into a lost puppy that follows people round all day. It’s good to see the bassinette fulfilling its potential as a baby bed rather than the storage space it had been up until this day.

Harry sets her down gently, shuffling his hands out from under her tiny body once she is lying down. One arm shoots out and she wriggles on her back, but her little blue eyes stay screwed tightly shut and with just a little snuffle and a whimper, she stays quiet.

They stand in awe watching their new daughter sleep for longer than either of them can measure. “Let’s lie down too.” Harry whispers, touching a soft hand to Louis’ arm.

Harry pulls on his arm, leading him over to the sofa where he reclines himself across the three cushions and motions for Louis to join him. Dutifully, Louis drops one knee onto the sofa and lowers himself quietly and gently into the gap. They wince as the leather creaks beneath them but baby doesn’t wake up. He fits himself into the space next to Harry's extended body perfectly, sliding his top leg between Harry's knees and throwing an arm loosely over his hip.

They speak so softly it’s almost entirely whispers. "How long do you think this'll last?"

"What, the sleeping?" Louis nods. "I dunno? Half hour? An hour?"

Louis raises his eyebrows as if to say 'you'll be lucky'.

"Let’s just make the most of it then!" Harry says, connecting his forehead with Louis' temple and burrowing down.

“Remember when they called us?” Louis says with a chuckle. Harry falters at how calm and blasé he is now; compared with the actual human whirlwind he had been when they’d got the call.

 

_“Fuck, Haz, what the hell do we do, do we go there now or do we wait? They said wait but we really should get there soon, what if we get there first and they won’t let us in and what if-”_

_“Lou!” Harry shouts with force, effectively silencing his hyper husband. “Shut up for a second, babe. You’re stressing, stop stressing.”_

_“It’s a stressful time, Harry!” Louis spits incredulously, raking his fingers back through his hair and spinning on his heel to face the window._

_“We can call Sophie’s mum and get an update whenever we like, they said that right? So we’ll call again in about an hour and see what’s go-”_

_“An hour?” Louis squeaks, spinning back around again. “An hour, she could have had the baby by then!”_

_“Louis, that’s highly unlikely.” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. Louis has gone through the labour and delivery of four whole siblings; you’d expect him to have a better grasp on reality. “C’mon, focus!”_

_“You don’t know, Harry, she could be fully dilated already, no-one has fucking told us anything!”_

_They had, is the thing. The adoptive mother’s own mother had contacted the agency who had contacted them to tell them that Sophie’s waters had broken and she was on her way into the Delivery Suite, and that fifteen year old Sophie was happy for any updates to come directly from them via text or phone call._

 

“Lou, it was two days ago, how could I have forgotten already?”

“Alright, it’s just been so crazy and so much has changed, sometimes it feels like it’s been a million years and other times it feels like ten minutes.”

“I get what you mean.”

They lie for another moment or two in silence.

 

_Harry manages to stave Louis off for an hour before texting Julie, Sophie’s mum, for an update. Harry is eternally grateful that they’ve been given one hundred percent freedom to contact the family during the labour process, because he doesn’t think he could stand another second of Louis’ incessant worrying and questioning._

_“Look!” Harry says when a reply finally comes. He holds his phone up for Louis to show him the message. “She said she’s still only four centimetres whatevered, so hang fire for another hour or so and see what’s going on then.”_

_Obviously, he’d love it if they could be there, and he knows it’s absolutely killing Louis not being there, but they’re better off here. There’s nothing they can do and they can’t actually be there in the room for the birth, so they have no choice but to wait it out._

 

“That was such a long day, I thought I were gonna pass out from the anticipation!”

“You’re telling me!” Harry grimaces affectionately. Louis lifts his head off his chest in time to see his stilted grin, and swats at him idly.

“Shut up, you knew I was Drama when you married me.”

“Long before that, darling!”

Louis doesn’t dignify that with an answer, just rubs his palm slowly across Harry’s chest. He can feel the soothing, calming steady beat of his heart under the layers of t-shirt and epithelium and muscle and bone. God, he would die happy if he died right now.

“Kiss me,” is what Harry says next. With a clipped, coy little smile he lifts his head up again and looks up – or down, really – at his husband. Twenty six months later he still isn’t bored of that word, ‘ _husband’._

_The baby girl is born at three minutes before 8pm; 6lbs 13oz and 19.5 inches. That’s the only titbit of information they have until just before 11pm when a bleary, teary Julie comes into the waiting room with four photos on her phone to show them._

_Harry’s breath hitches and Louis’ hand flies up to his face immediately when they’re shown the first picture. She’s swaddled in a white blanket, a soft pink hat covering what looks to be dark – almost black – hair. Her eyes are squeezed tightly closed and her skin is dark pinky-red with newness. From every angle she looks amazing, more beautiful than anything either of them has ever seen before._

_The events of that night will no doubt become clearer over time, but it feels like a haze in the moment. At seven the following morning, they’re fetched by their adoption co-ordinator Karen who gives them the news they’ve been waiting for: their baby is ready to meet them._

_As agreed previously, Sophie and her mum aren’t present for the meeting. It feels like a punch to the gut that they can’t thank her personally just one more time, but Karen hands them an envelope marked ‘To Louis & Harry’ in slanted purple handwriting and Harry clutches it like its precious gold. They sign the last of the paperwork and go over the final points._

_Eventually, after what had seemed like a lifetime, they were lead through to the nursery where their daughter was waiting for them._

 

Harry's lips quirk against his as he obliges, massaging their lips together then slipping in his tongue so the two muscles dance together. The softness of their mouths moving together sends signals to somewhere he knows he has to ignore for now. Harry grabs blindly at his bum, pulling pretty aimlessly at the stretchy jogging bottoms he looks oh so fetching in. As he wriggles he thinks about what he can feel going on in the confines of Harry’s skinny jeans. Honestly, his boy is never _not_ in skinny jeans. His hands are urgent over his body too, the tips of his fingers pressing Harry sized marks into his flesh.

"I love you," they both utter to each other against their lips. They lie facing each other, catching their breaths, for a moment or two.

"Thought any more about a name?" Louis asks, propping himself up on his elbow and peering over the back of the sofa towards the bassinette.

The shortlist of possible name options they'd been fussing over for the past eighteen weeks didn't seem to help much now that she was actually here and home with them. Picking a name was so difficult; once siblings, extended family, one ex-girlfriend and mortal childhood enemies namesakes were ruled out, that didn't leave them with a lot of choice; especially with their predominantly female immediate families.

"I dunno, do you think she looks like a Katie? Claire? Mia? Lola?"

Louis is silent for a moment, and Harry takes this as confirmation that his partner is keen on precisely none of those names. "Maybe we need more time to think? It’s an important step after all."

"Louisa?" Harry suggests with a devilish grin.

"Harriet!" Louis comes back with quickly, before throwing a hand up in protest. "No, seriously it can’t be anything cheesy or rhyming or alliteration or anything like that."

"Shame..." Harry mutters, pretending to be affronted. "I think Harriet is a nice name."

"You’re a div," Louis says softly. Harry pouts but taps his chest, and Louis knows exactly what that means. "I love you. Always will."

Louis puts his head back down; their quest to name their daughter remaining apparently unfulfilled.

"Is that you?" Harry says suddenly, suddenly bucking up so Louis has to scramble to grab hold onto something to save him. It ends up being Harry’s t-shirt.  

"Is that me what?" Louis asks, his voice rising in decibels uncontrollably. Suddenly it hits him. "Urgh, fuck, no of course it’s not you knob!"

With the unpleasant odour hanging in the air around them, they silently decide between them who’s going to have to deal with their girl and what has just occurred in her nappy.

"You want the honour of first unsupervised nappy change?" Harry asks.

"Ummm, not really?" Louis says, though the look on Harry's face tells him he doesn't really have much choice. As he rolls dramatically off the sofa onto the fluffy rug beneath, he sighs loudly. He crawls on his hands and knees to the dinner table in the corner where he proceeds to lug himself up and clamber to his feet exaggeratedly.

He mutters under his breath the whole time, but Harry just rolls his eyes and says, “Get on with it, sweetheart.”

Louis throws up two fingers to Harry without even looking round.

 

//

 

With a fresh nappy and a new baby grow – a charming little lilac number from Gemma with ‘I Love My Dads’ on the chest in curly rainbow font – baby girl is happy again and Louis sits cross legged with his back against the sofa cradling her. 

He's not even sure if she's awake or not, her eyes certainly aren't open but she isn't still; her eyelids flutter and her little arms move randomly. Her bottom lip juts out as he speaks and her brows furrow as if she is trying to say 'I can hear you dad'.

"That's better isn't it, Little Miss?" He says softly, several pitches higher than his already dulcet tones. "All fresh. Oooh, so fresh, so clean."

He hears Harry laugh softly at him.

"Pops is just jealous of daddy's sick flow.” He says to baby. “Yes he is, oh he is so jel-jel-jelly of daddy, yes he is."

Apparently, he quite excels at baby talk. 

"What's your name, huh, beautiful lady?" He continues, bringing up his knees and resting her in the crevice between his thighs. She fits in perfectly, her legs and feet curled around into a warm tangle in his lap. He reclines her enough that she is perfectly safe just lying there. He takes the muslin he was using to wipe her mouth and tucks the clean side under her left arm so it dusts softly against her temple and ear. She ruts against it with a small gurgle. 

"Well, let me tell you, we've got a lot of names you _can't_ be called. You, little lady have got five whole aunties. You'll meet them soon. Gemma, Charlotte, Felicite, Daisy and Phoebe.  The last two are twins, wow!" He pauses to swoon. "That means once those beautiful eyes are strong enough to look, you'll see two beautiful girls that look the same. That's all part of the magic, you see? Daddy will show you when you're bigger."

He nudges the tip of his index finger into her tightly clenched fist and she automatically flexes her palm and settles her grip again around his digit like a vice.

"So that means you're not a Charlotte or a Phoebe or a Daisy, amongst others. You could be a Donna but papa won't let me! Oh, that Pops is a meany-poo, isn't he?"

The baby goes red in the face at that moment and strains. "Ooh, speaking of poo, that was a big one darling! Ooh, what a stinky," he pinches his nose exaggeratedly. "Harry!"

"I'm right behind you, Lou!" Harry's voice is closer than he expected. Louis tilts his head backward until it hilts the sofa cushion and he sees Harry leaning forward on his arms on the back of the sofa.

"Oh, hi love, sorry we thought you were in the kitchen." Louis smiles, keeping his head in place as Harry leans down for a quick kiss. "I think this Little Miss has pooped again, Papa." Louis says, turning back to watch her. 

"That's nice." Harry says flatly, and Louis immediately shakes his head. 

"Oh no you don't, matey, it's your turn! Come and change Donna's nappy!"

"Lou, it's not Donna, stop trying to force Donna!"

"Alright, alright, looks like I'm outnumbered on that one, anyway." Louis says as baby girl wrinkles up her little button nose and lets out a high-pitched, strangled cry. "Take her, love, me arse has gone numb."

Harry obligingly flings himself over the sofa and leans across him to pick her up. He props her up on his chest and carries her back over to the dinner table where the changing mat, wipes and spare nappy are waiting conveniently for him. The organiser his mum had insisted they'd need is already worth its weight in gold.

He can’t help but linger as Harry changes her again. When her tiny, blushing red limbs are out of her clothes, he is really reminded of how tiny she is and how brand new she is. She whimpers when the wipe touches her and Louis must admit that the noise goes right through him after a while. He’s desperate to scoop her back up to make it stop, and is relieved when Harry finishes popping her outfit back up and lifts her back into his arms. She stops almost immediately once she’s in the crook of his arm and Louis feels an immediate lump in his throat that he has to gulp down. 

"Let’s sit down." Harry says, nodding towards the sofa. They settle into opposite ends of the sofa, Harry with his legs curled underneath him and the baby tucked in close. Louis sinks back into the other corner and stretches his legs across the middle cushion, tucking his toes under Harry's leg. With his spare hand, Harry reaches down and affectionately rubs the nub of his ankle bone. "Wanna cuddle?"

"With who, you or her?" he asks with a soft chuckle.

"Both of us." Harry says plainly, face unfaltering as he waits in anticipation of Louis accepting.

"Yeah, alright ‘en." He clambers up onto his knee and into the gap along the inside of the sofa. Harry shifts his knees outwards to make room then back in so Louis can rest his head on his thigh. Baby girl stays nestled calmly in Harry's arms and from this vantage point, Louis can see her perfectly. She’s pouting as she always seems to be, and her blue eyes that he has only seen a handful of times since she's been born, are open only very fleetingly before closing again. He wriggles to get his bottom arm tucked as far around Harry's back as he can, before lifting his top arm up over Harry's legs and resting his hand next to baby's face. He slowly strokes her cheek with the crook of his index finger and she seems to rub her face against it, but that's probably just a fluke. Harry's other arm drapes around his shoulders and the very tips of his fingers burn into the skin exposed where his t-shirt sleeve ends.

"Love you both, so much." He says so quietly, Louis almost misses it. It’s not even a whisper; it's just so soft and so gentle.

"Love you too babe." Louis says back, not taking his eyes off their daughter for one moment. "Both of you."

"I was thinking, we should look at the list again. Pick one from there?"

With a small sigh, Louis nods. "This is harder than I was expecting. I don't recall me mum and Mark ever having this much trouble naming the girls."

"Probably cuz they had more than three brain cells collectively, unlike us."

Louis laughs at that, causing baby's legs to jolt up in her sleep. "Oops, sorry Little Miss." Louis pats the blanket over her tummy gently. "Luckily for me, I’ve got that list memorised so I don’t have to get up."

"So... option one?" Harry says.

"Caitlin?" Louis says, mentally checking off the first name from their shortlist. They both peer down at baby girl for a moment, then at each other. Unanimously, they shake their heads.

"Ava was another, right?" Harry says, returning his attention to their girl. Louis nods silently, pondering this choice. It's pretty, but maybe a bit popular now, and his first thought is that God awful brat Ava Cunningham in Daisy’s tutor group.

"Yeah but I don’t like it now." He admits. "She's not an Ava."

"No, I agree." Harry says with his own sigh. Tiredness is setting in now, for both of them, and with his head on Harry's knee he's beginning to feel close to the brink. “There was only one other, wasn’t there?”

He props himself up a bit so he has to physically hold up his head himself, and recalls the final candidate. "Yeah. Imogen."

"Hmmm," Harry says quietly, looking closely at their baby girl. "Are you an Imogen? We’re running out of ideas here, babe. Give us a sign? Are you an Imogen?"

'Imogen' continues to lie soundly in Harry’s lap, not wavering or making any sound at all really apart from the rapid little puffs of air that she expels from her nose. 

"She’s not bothered either way, I don’t think. Whatever we choose, she won’t be bothered until she's like, thirteen and has an attitude on."

"That seems so futuristic, thirteen." Louis comments, still not looking up.

Harry nods sagely, before turning his attention back to the baby once again. "Imogen? Are you Imogen? Im-ohhhhh-gen. Im. Oh. Gen. Is that you?"

"I like it, y'know?" Louis says cautiously, unsure whether Harry will backtrack now they might have finally just made an inroad into their decision making.

"I do too, actually." Harry says without looking up either. "Imogen Grace Jo-Anne Tomlinson."

The middle name hadn’t been such a struggle; they'd agreed on that within moments of getting the call from Sophie that the baby was going to be a girl. Jo-Anne, spelled specifically like that with the hyphen, as they’d both agreed Johannah-Anne was a bit too much of a matchy-matchy mouthful. Grace was new, this was the first Louis had heard of it, but it was a Harry suggestion he was more than happy to go along with.

"High five!" Louis says, holding up his spare hand. They awkwardly high five and lean together as close as they can to share a quick kiss. "Go us, we finally named our daughter. Woo!"

 

//

 

"Can’t believe we have an Imogen." Harry says later. It's past 8pm now and Imogen has gone through three more nappies, two outfit changes and a 4oz bottle of milk since she gained her new name.

"Can’t wait to tell everyone. D'you think they'll like it?"

"I’m sure they will," Harry says confidently. "But even if they don't, we do so that’s all that matters, right? She is our daughter after all."

"God, that sounds so good. Say it again." Louis says with a chuckle.

"Our daughter!" Harry says with a broad grin himself. "Even if she isn’t ours biologically, she's ours in every other possible sense of the word."

Imogen sleeps soundly in her bassinette for a solid forty five minutes before she starts to stir again. During the downtime, Harry fixed them some quick chicken burritos that Louis manages half of before he is springing up from his seat to fetch Imogen.

She settles once she's in his arms, which Louis isn’t going to lie is the best feeling in the world to him right then. They’re both still learning, and by powers of deduction, they find out she doesn’t really need anything, just a nice cuddle. After ten minutes of slowly waltzing around the room with her, he puts her back down to minimal fuss.

Harry orders him back to finish his food. "Gotta make sure take care of my boy as well as my girl." He says as he taps the table surface where's Louis' place is made up.

Once dinner is finished, Harry stacks the dishes and forks by the sink but doesn’t bother to fill the sink. "That can wait til the morning. Y’never know, one of our mums might offer to do it if I leave it long enough!"

"You’re the devil, Tomlinson." Louis mutters in Harry's ear, draping himself over his shoulders from behind, propped up on his tiptoes so he can reach. Again, he still isn’t bored of Harry's new name. Not that it’s that new anymore, but relatively speaking it is.

"To quote your favourite person, yourself, y’knew I was Trouble when you married me, sweetheart."

"And before that, too." They say in unison, before dissolving with laughter at their own cheesiness.

 

//

 

After concluding that 8.30pm is in fact a respectable time to go to bed when you're a new parent, they then spend ten minutes deciding who is going to be bestowed with the nerve-wracking task of carrying Imogen upstairs in the bassinette for the first time.

After rock, paper scissors and short of drawing straws, Harry gives in and says he will do it. Louis follows behind him, peering round his body to check on Imogen the entire time, gasps of 'careful!' and 'there's another step, Haz!' hissing out of him like an overflowing drain.

"I know, _Louis!"_ Harry hisses back sharply. "You’re making me nervous, back off a bit!"

Reluctantly, Louis hangs back one step so there is a small gap between them, before setting off again. Once they're in the safety of their room, Harry looks around expectantly. "Where’s the frame for the basket?"

"Um," Louis looks sheepish. "I left it downstairs."

He scurries back down to get it, not even having to turn the lights on because it’s still bloody daylight outside. When he gets back to their room, Harry has rested Imogen in her bassinette on the bed and miraculously she is still asleep.

"Got it!" he says delicately, folding out the frame and positioning it at the foot of the bed in front of the built-in wardrobes.

Once Imogen is settled properly, they shuck themselves out of their clothes, into pyjama bottoms and fall into bed as quietly as they can.

They meet in the middle of the bed, their heads dropping a bit uncomfortably into the dip between the pillows. Facing each other, so close and so intimate like this, Louis can't help but giggle.

"What?" Harry asks, smiling into his shoulder shyly.

"Nothin', nothin'!" He says dismissively. "Just happy."

"Me too," Harry says without hesitation. "Wouldn’t change this for the world."

"You won’t be saying that tomorrow when we've had total thirty seven minutes of sleep and we're both scratching each other’s eyes out with forks."

"That won't happen!" Harry says, laughing quietly. "I hope."

They share their whispered back and forth for about half an hour, sharing stories and wondering what might be going on outside their little bubble. They plan where they will take Imogen on her first walk, what they will have for dinner tomorrow, what delights their mums might bring with them. 

Several times, Harry drifts into a momentary sleep as he's talking. Louis feels his own eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and he knows that they really should be taking this opportunity to sleep while Imogen is.

"Shhh," Louis reaches up and gently dusts his fingertips over Harry's eyes. "Shall we sleep? While we can."

Harry nods, no words necessary, and even though it’s still light outside and it’s only just turned 9pm, Louis has no trouble switching off. Imogen at their feet sleeps soundly, but they know she has a time limit on her and she could erupt into tears at any point. Silently, Louis shuffles up the bed to press one solitary, soft kiss into Harry's forehead and promptly falls asleep.

 

_Harry_

 

Harry wakes suddenly, sitting up in bed before his eyes are even open. It take a moment to gather himself before he remembers and realises that the sound of a crying baby is exactly that; a crying baby. _Their_ crying baby.

Louis is quick to follow, heaving himself up off the mattress in mirrored confusion. "What’s... whatimesit?"

The alarm clock on Louis' side tells them its 22:56. They've barely been asleep an hour but they're both so disorientated they can't tell their arses from their elbows.

Harry pats around in the dark for the touch-sensitive lamp on his bedside table. He taps it once on the lowest setting and the room fills with warm, weak yellow light. He blinks back a burning sting as he acclimatises to the new light, before staggering to Imogen's bassinette.

"I know what's wrong; I can smell what's wrong." Louis says helpfully from the bed, as if Harry couldn’t smell it himself.

"Hmmm, I wondered what that was, thanks!" Harry says sarcastically as he gets slowly back into bed with Imogen propped up on his chest. Carefully, with a hand under her head and a hand under her bum, he lies her down on the bed in front of him and sets about unpopping her baby grow. "She needs a clean one, Lou."

Louis scurries off to her fully equipped and decorated nursery to select an outfit. When he returns he has a simple plain mint green baby grow and white vest.

"Cheers, love." Harry takes them from him and nods towards the bassinette. "Drag it over here, will you? Save us keep getting up and traipsing all the way over there."

Louis harrumphs because it’s not really _that_ far, but he does it anyway. The bassinette fits snugly down Harry’s side of the bed, leaving him not much room to manoeuvre really. "Does she need milk?"

Harry contemplates this for a while. She’d had about half of her last 3oz bottle at 8pm, almost three hours ago. "Yeah, mix one up now; give it time to cool down."

Louis nods obligingly and bites the tip of his tongue between his lips as he concentrates on tipping the formula into the bottle, carefully adding boiling water from the flask to the mix and shaking it. He only shakes the bed minimally as he goes, and Imogen's eyes fly open monetarily at the movement. They both freeze and hold their breath while they wait to see if she will start squawking, but alas she does not.

A clean bum and a cuddle on her papa's bare chest seem to do the trick and she remains calm. Harry wonders what all the fuss is about and where all those parenting horror stories come from as he lies back on his standard three pillows with Imogen curled up on him. She settles on her right cheek and fleetingly holds her beautiful blue eyes open for a few seconds to look at Louis.

"There’s your daddy, Immy." Harry cranes his neck to whisper into her ear. "Isn’t he lovely? Yes he is."

Louis smiles coyly and laughs softly out of his nose. "You’re saying that now..."

"He is the best man you will ever meet, your daddy. Well, apart from me of course."

Imogen doesn’t respond, obviously, just closes those little eyes again. They take it as a win and enjoy ten or fifteen minutes of peace before she's fretting for her milk again.

He hands her over to Louis to feed. He watches Louis proudly as he sits cross legged with Imogen propped up on a pillow in his lap. One arm drapes casually but securely around her while the other holds the bottle in place. She whimpers and fusses until she gets the teat in her mouth, but one she grasps it she is away. The milk decreases rapidly, gurgling and hissing inside the teat as she demolishes it.

She isn’t too happy to have it taken away half way through for burpies, but brings up three large, clear belches as Louis pats her back over his protected shoulder.

"Oooh, pardon you Little Miss!" Louis coos with dramatic, put-on gasps. She finishes the remainder of her bottle in no time at all, and although reluctant, she falls back asleep until 4.15am.

When he wakes, again completely unaware of the time or his location or the day or _anything_ , sunlight is beginning to filter in through the eyelet gaps in the top of their bedroom curtains; the lime green colouring of them soaking the room in fresh, funky green light.

Harry assumes that it will be this way for a while; just about three hours unbroken sleep is probably quite good going, he won’t complain. Besides, the mother and the mother-in-law are both coming over later on; there will be time for forty winks then.

By the time he's finished that thought, he realises Louis is up and standing over the bassinette with a fond, gentle look painted on his tired face. His scruff is over five days old now and glows in the early morning sunlight, his blue eyes likewise. He is paler than his natural self and his eyes _are_ drooping slightly at the edges, framed by weary wriggly lines. He probably still has morning breath and is two days past needing a shower, but he honestly has never looked better to Harry.

"I’ve got this love, pass me the milk then lie back down." Louis says softly, holding a hand out without even looking up from Imogen.

Harry used to think the day he met Louis was his favourite day. Then it became the day he and Louis became official. Then it was the day Louis asked him to marry him. Of course, after that their wedding day became his favourite memory. Now there's a joint contender for best day. Best memory. Best feeling. Best _everything_ , really.

 

End.


	2. Our Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fluffy little update, based one month after the end of chapter one. I’m planning on updating this sporadically with cute little snippets of their lives together!
> 
> So… without further ado, Louis goes back to work!

Two weeks statutory paternity leave hadn’t seemed enough. The extra two weeks annual leave he’d taken hadn’t felt like enough. He’d been up until almost 3am that Monday morning working out whether they could afford for him to take another two weeks leave unpaid.

Harry, who was wide awake as well, had told him repeatedly that it was not feasible and he should stop being so bloody stupid, and that he should get into bed right now else he’d be dead on his feet at 7am when he had to wake for work.

His first day back at work since Imogen had been born. It’s not fair. Imogen is only just over a month old. Thirty three days to be precise and it’s just not been enough.

“It’s not fair,” he verbalises as he finally shuts the lid of his MacBook and clambers onto the bed where Harry is currently soothing Imogen’s back on his knee. Her face is almost purple with a load of trapped burps that she is too stubborn to give up.

“C’mon babe, get all those burpies up,” Harry says gently to her in a soft, sing-song voice before turning to Louis. “I know love, but we’ll be here waiting for you as soon as you get home for cuddles and kisses.”

Fatherhood hasn’t really changed Harry. He is still the syrupy sweet, divine, definition of delicious that Louis fell in love with almost nine years ago. “It’s not fair.”

“I know love, you said.” Harry says as he turns back to Imogen. He pats her back gently and she finally let’s go of a big milky burp that echoes in the silence. Harry smiles proudly and reclines her back into his arms to finish her milk. “Lou, get some sleep please, you’ll be a zombie all day tomorrow if you don’t.”

Louis nods reluctantly, shrugging off his t-shirt and pulling back the duvet. He starts to say something about God knows what, but is asleep before he can finish his sentence.

*

When he wakes again to his phone alarm vibrating on the bedside table, its 07:00 and his head feels filled with lead as he tries to lift it off the pillow. He groans loudly and tries to fold the edges of his pillow around his head.

“No! Don’t wanna get up!” He mutters to himself as he blinks his eyes open and waits for the room to come into focus around him. He realises he hasn’t turned the alarm off yet, and reaches for it angrily.

He stares at the blank space in the bed next to him. On tired, unadjusted legs he hauls himself out of bed and to the bathroom.

He can hear Imogen fussing downstairs and Harry’s low, gentle voice signing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to her. And seriously, how is he expected to go back to work and leave this behind? He longs for the days where he’d woken up with Harry, early yes, but they’d fed and changed Imogen between them and then gone back to sleep for as long as they could until Little Miss was ready to be awake again. Then, they’d put Imogen in her pushchair and go for a little walk to the shops or the lake. Imogen would sleep right through it but she’d be ready for another bottle of milk and more cuddles once they got home.

He drags his heels, trying to emphasise how much he doesn’t want to go back to work. Everything takes longer than it should and he stops to take Imogen in his arms and cradle her when he really should be trying to eat some jam on toast and getting his smart black shoes on. Shoes that he hasn’t worn for a month because he’d been free to live in his Converse and Vans.

“Text me if anything happens H, I mean anything. You’ve got my work number too, and the switchboard if you can’t get me. I’ve got my phone, it’s on Loud, look,” He points his phone in Harry’s face. “I’ll have it out all day, so honestly, just text me or call me if anything happens, okay? Alright?”

“Lou! Honestly babe, calm down. It’ll be fine. We’ll be waiting for you when you get home.” Harry pulls him into a tight embrace.

“I’ll miss you. Both of you.” Louis says miserably into Harry’s chest. Harry smells like home.

“Don’t do anything massive and milestone-y while Daddy’s at work, Miss Imogen.” He leans into the bassinette where Imogen lays asleep. “No smiling, no holding your own head up, please.”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t.” Harry says behind him. Louis straightens up and with a heavy heart grabs his bag and his jacket. “I’ll miss you. Try not to have too much fun back in the real world.”

“Urgh, don’t!” Louis grimaces with a shudder. He’s been putting off this moment for too long now. It’s 08:34 and he has twenty six minutes to make a journey he normally prefers to have at least forty minutes for. “Right, I love you,” Louis stops to kiss Harry. “Very much,” Another kiss. “I’ll miss you.” Kiss. “Very much.” Kiss. “See you tonight.” One last kiss.

“I love you, baby girl.” He leans back down to kiss Imogen’s soft, rosy cheek. He takes an extra deep breath in so he can really remember her smell and then heads for the door, not making eye contact with Harry because he thinks he might cry if he does. “See you tonight.”

The car feels very empty without Harry and Imogen in it. All the empty spaces around him feel filled with water that is trying to drown him. He sits on the driveway for a few moments, collecting himself, ignoring the time that is rapidly depleting. At 08:41, he puts the car in reverse and backs onto the road.

With his foot down and a nice bit of luck on his side with traffic lights, he makes it to work only six minutes late.

*

His desk is awash with congratulations cards in envelopes that are varying shades of pink, a white square envelope addressed to ‘Mr L and Mr H Tomlinson’ propped up against a bottle of champagne. Louis plucks the card into his hand and studies the script handwriting; from The Big Boss.

He spends most of the morning interspersing about three minutes of actual work with ten minutes of showing the ladies baby pictures and talking about Imogen and Harry. By lunchtime, he’s done next to nothing with his morning apart from turn his Out of Office email auto-response off and delete a months’ worth of junk mail.

He keeps in regular contact with Harry all morning, but he’s not going to talk about the blind panic he’d been in for forty five minutes when Harry wasn’t answering his phone or replying to texts. He and Imogen had been just sleeping, of course; there hadn’t been an earthquake and an armed robbery at their home that had rendered them hostages to gun-wielding mad men. Louis feels bad for Harry, the pained, exhausted fuzziness in his voice as he reassures Louis everything is okay. He’d been awake with Imogen when Louis had finally fallen asleep early that morning and he was up with Imogen when Louis had woken up for work.

All he can stomach for lunch is one of the cupcakes the girls had brought in to welcome him back, and even that’s too sickly sweet. He manages to get about six important emails replied to and bluffs his way through three phone calls. The things he can’t remember doing a month ago have been dealt with by other people and the queries that have arisen since blow his mind. Sally, who sits across from him, sees his distress and simply tells him to leave it until tomorrow.

He sneaks out the office at 16:58 and rushes towards home, not quite experiencing the same good luck with the lights as he had that morning. He’d had a month off from rush hour traffic and he’d honestly forgotten about it until he’s sat staring at the back window of a Honda Civic in front of him, not moving an inch. He fiddles restlessly with the touch screen of the car stereo, changing the bass and the treble and thus singing choruses of Meghan Trainor ‘All About The Bass’ to himself as he creeps forward slowly. He taps his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel agitatedly, staring out of the window. He’s already forgotten how Imogen smells; he has to get home soon.

The car in front lets someone in ahead of them, and Louis swears violently under his breath. Eventually, the lights change and he makes it a bit up the road in clear traffic before having to stop again. It’s already gone half five and the travel news on the local radio reminds him of that fact with glee. He is well aware of the ‘heavy build-up of traffic around the town centre’ that they speak of and he feels like going down to the station and punching the DJ square in the face.

Finally, he pulls off the main road and takes the route through all the little villages between the town centre and his house. This way is deserted and even though it’s probably five miles or so longer, it’s quicker than sitting bumper-to-bumper. At two minutes before 6pm, he crashes through the door to find Harry sitting on the sofa, Imogen nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” He asks instantly, before following Harry’s eyes to the bassinette in the corner of the room. “Oh thank God! Is she okay? Are you okay? How was your day?”

“We’re fine Lou, we had an absolutely fine day. We missed you.” Harry motions for Louis to come closer. Louis drops his stuff right by the door and cuts across the living room to his man.

“Christ, I missed you too. I don’t think I can do this.” He says, climbing onto Harry’s lap and collapsing into his body, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Harry’s arms come round to hold Louis close and he sinks in as close as he can get like they’re trying to fuse together. He takes a deep breath and savours every little millisecond.

“You made it through the first day back, babe, you can do anything now.” Harry says, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder. He can feels Harry’s Adam’s apple moving against his shoulder as he speaks.

“I dunno about that.” Louis disagrees into Harry’s chest.

“Yeah you can, Lou,” Harry reassures him again, Louis still feeling doubtful. “You’re our hero.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this, just a bit of fluffy fun!
> 
> Tumblr: mummyamy10
> 
> x


	3. Seeing Stars

**Seeing Stars: November 2016**

 

Louis feels no shame in being found curled up on the floor of Imogen’s bedroom in the foetal position, his cheek wet with tears. It’s not even the most pathetic he’s ever been, so...

Harry’s hand gently touches the curvature of his shoulder and he lowers himself to the floor too, curling his own body around Louis’ spine, only making him choke out a harder sob.

“It’s all right, babe.” Harry soothes in his ear, running his hand down his shoulder, his back and over the rise and fall of his waist to rest over his tummy. He tucks his fingers under Louis’ side and pulls himself closer.

“I didn’t think it’d be this hard!” Louis says, unable to control the pitch and the speed in which he speaks. The lump in his throat bursts into a pool of emotion. “I’m being so ridiculous, it’s one night and I know she’s safe with your mum I just- I just… _Oh_ bloody hell!”

He turns over onto his right side and burrows his face into Harry’s chest. “Lou,” Harry says, though his own voice sounds cracked and delicate. “It’s all right love. I’m here.”

Louis nods pitifully into Harry’s chest, well aware of the tears and God knows what else he’s smearing into the material of his t-shirt. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” Harry promises, and Louis feels his grip tighten around him; the pads of Harry’s fingers press into his skin and the smell of his clothes and his skin and his hair seep into his subconscious and instantaneously calm him down.

In a few moments, his tears have stopped and when he pulls his face away from Harry’s chest, the air begins to dry the mess on his cheeks.

“I’m ugly now,” He mutters with an embarrassed, self-deprecating little chuckle. He brings his hand up between their bodies and wipes under his eyes. Harry catches his hands and uses the crook of his own index finger to wipe the tired, purpled skin under Louis’ eyes.

“Never,” Harry says again, confidently with a soft smile curling around one corner of his mouth as he concentrates. “Look babe, this is hurting me back; can we get into bed for a minute?”

With his own crooked smile, Louis nods.

/

Thanks to the lack of sleep (and the early work mornings for Louis) that’s haunted them for the last twelve weeks or so, cuddles in the middle of their bed turns into an hour-and-a-half long nap. Harry must wake first because his gentle fingertips climbing their way up his arm wakes Louis from his slumber with a start.

“God, what time is it?” Louis asks, all blurry eyes and a thick tongue as he reacquaints himself with the land of the woke.

“Half six, just gone.” Harry informs him. His eyes are clear and his cheeks are pink; still dusted with sleep but he’s much more alive than Louis. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“How long were we asleep for?”

“About an hour and a half. I woke up about ten minutes ago.”

“You should have woke me up sooner, love.”

“It’s okay, there’s no rush. The pub serves until 11pm anyway.”

“Mmm, not the point.” Louis says as he tips his head forward and nestles under Harry’s chin, his husband lifting his head up slightly to accommodate the new addition. “Can we have ten more minutes?”

“Course, no rush.” Harry says, not minding Louis’ contradictory stance on their getting out bed.

Louis’ eyes fall closed again. He lays with his ear pressed to Harry’s shoulder, the far off, distant thud of his heart from deep inside his chest keeping Louis calm. They stay melded together silently as Harry’s chest rises and falls and Louis’ tired limbs twitch involuntarily.

“Love, we’re gonna… fall asleep again,” Harry says, faltering in the middle. It takes Louis a second to register his words, right on the precipice of sleep.

“Hmpff,” He mumbles sleepily into Harry’s chest, his eyes growing heavy behind his lids. The next thing either of them know, it's twenty past seven.

/

Louis is woken for the second time by a confused Harry shooting out of bed, leaving him bereft of the arms that had been holding him while he slept.

“Lou, it’s nearly half seven, we’d better get up, love.” He says, shaking Louis’ shoulder in a blind panic.

Louis sits up in bed. He feels cold as the duvet slips off his shoulders as he sits up. He looks around as he gets his bearings again, and he has to smirk at the sleep-addled confusion Harry is currently flapping about in.

“Chill love, help me up.” He holds his hands out for Harry to lift him out of the bed, and on creaking limbs he carries himself to the bathroom, Harry close behind him. They alternate around the bathroom like a circuit, Harry showering first because it takes him longer while Louis brushes his teeth and shaves, and then Louis jumps in the still warm shower behind him while Harry dries his hair and doesn’t bother shaving, because well, he just doesn’t need to and it doesn’t bother him.

When Louis emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and water droplets flying off the ends of his hair onto his back and shoulders, he finds Harry sitting on the edge of their bed in socks and boxers; hair curled up into a towel that sits on top of his head like a swirl of ice cream. Louis still loves how he does that, all these years on.

“Hiya,” They both say together, smiling with soft little laughs. Louis squirms his wet feet into the carpet as he walks over to the wardrobe, trying to decide what to match his staple black skinnies with. He eyes thin sweaters, thicker jumpers, shirts and round neck slogan t-shirts, patterned shirts of Harry’s that have crept into his side of the wardrobe even though they’d always tried to keep their stuff separate. It was hard though, with Louis fondness for Harry’s slightly too big tracksuit bottoms, and Harry’s penchant for wearing Louis’ baggy t-shirts; baggy t-shirts that are a perfect fit on him.

Harry is still sitting dozily on the end of the bed as Louis turns away from the wardrobe with three different choices in his arm. He drops his towel and that gets Harry’s attention all right.

Louis laughs as a dopey, fascinated look glazes over Harry’s eyes. “ _That_ woke you up!”

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

Louis nods; he could tell. “I could tell.” He takes a pair of black boxers from the top drawer which hopefully are his but in all honesty they could well be Harry’s. He watches Harry’s eyes follow the curve of his hips as he wriggles into his jeans, admittedly feeling a bit proud of how he can still woo Harry after all this time. Even now that they’re both strung out, caffeine dependent, sleep-deprived dads.

“Which one?” He says, holding up the shirts one by one. First is his scoop neck maroon knit jumper, the second is basically the same exact jumper but in grey, and the third is a plain black button down.

Unsurprisingly – because Louis _knows_ what his scoop neck jumpers do to Harry - Harry’s unanimous vote is for the maroon sweater.

Once it’s let down from its towelling prison, Harry’s hair dries in less than ten minutes. His curls soften and spring back up as they dry, and the little fly-away’s around his hairline smooth down with a tiny bit of product. Louis sits on the bed fully dressed apart from shoes, ready to go and waiting on Harry.

Eventually, Harry steps back from the wardrobe with a twirl. He looks every inch the gorgeous young man Louis fell in love with all those years ago. Gone are the tracksuit bottoms on their third day of wear, baked bean stained t-shirt and messy bun falling out of its hair tie. Harry dazzles in a dark grey star print shirt with stripes on the chest pocket and his legs are defined once again in painted-on black skinny jeans with black suede boots.

Louis wolf-whistles his husband and jumps up off their bed; wrapping his arms around Harry from behind. He rocks onto his tiptoes and hooks his chin around Harry’s shoulder. "Wow, I'd almost forgotten how well you scrub up, love.”

"You don't look t’bad yourself." Harry almost purrs, turning his head slightly to say into Louis’ cheek. Louis looks up at their reflection in the mirrored door; a long overdue haircut the day before had been a good call, and in proper clothes for once instead of trackies and football shirts, he looks a far cry from the dishevelled, unkempt mess he usually is of an evening.

"You look sharp," Louis says, reaching out to touch then snapping his hand back dramatically. "Ow, you cut me!"

"You're such a cheese ball, Lou." Harry says dismissively with a roll of his eyes.

"You love me for it." Louis says confidently, as if that's that. And that really is that, really.

/

Harry flings his hair over into a side sweeping quiff precisely six times between getting out of the taxi and getting seated at their table. Louis knows this because he’s counted.

“Nervous, love?” Louis asks with a bemused smirk as Harry realigns the cutlery in his place and looks up at the picture on the wall above their table twice, as if it the nail holding it on the wall is about to snap and send the heavy gilt frame crashing down on them.

“No!” Harry says, overcompensating with artificial breeziness. “I’m fine! Just fine!”

Louis has to smile. Earlier on, it had been him freaking out and Harry had been there for him. Now, Harry seemed to be having a bit of a hard time.“Thinking about Immy?”

That did it. Thirty seconds into their date and Harry’s face is already collapsing into a grieving, crinkled mess. “Do you think she’s okay? I mean, it’s been years, _years_ since by mum had a baby, I’m twenty eight years of age, for Christ sake, do you think she’ll know what to do if Immy cries, or if she hurts herself or will she know what her different cries mean? Will she know when she’s due a feed? _We_ know, but will mum know? Louis, what if-”

“Haz!” Louis cuts him off by grabbing his flailing hands and cupping them in his own. “Chill! Relax! Your mum is perfect, it’s gonna be fine. She’d raised two kids of her own, she knows what she’s doing!”

“Should I text her though? Or maybe call?”

“No love, she’d call us if there was a problem. Let’s enjoy this night out.”

Harry looks miserably back at him, eyes panic stricken and face ashen with doubt. He opens his mouth to say something but Louis squeezes his hands tighter around his and shakes his head. “Stop panicking, H. She’ll be perfectly fine.”

The waitress appears at their table at that very moment, and Louis smiles apologetically at her. “Sorry about him, he’s a bit… emotional.”

“Is he all right?” She asks with concern. She seems like a sweet girl, probably only very late teens at most. She looks at Harry closely, then back at Louis.

“Yeah he’ll be fine. It’s just…” He hesitates on whether to elaborate. Fuck it, yes he’s going to elaborate. “It’s our first night out since our daughter was born. He’s not coping so well.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet. How old is she?” The waitress – Katie, by her name tag – coos with a massive smile as she tucks her order pad back into the pocket of her apron.

“Twelve and a half weeks,” Harry answers immediately, and Louis has to wonder whether he’s about to pull out his phone to show Katie a picture. “She’s with my mum. First night away, she’ll be okay, won’t she?”

“Harry!” Louis hisses, his cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “Just let the poor love take our order, yeah babe?”

“It’s all right! I don’t mind! I’m sure she will be absolutely fine, duck! Nothing to worry about!” Katie sings as she takes her pad back out. “So can I get you guys drinks to start? Seems like this one needs it!”

Louis laughs as Harry remains stoic. Louis orders for them in the end, giving up on getting any sort of sense out of Harry. Katie scuttles away with their order of a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc, giggling at Harry. “Come on, love, stop worrying. We’re here to have fun. We’ve both had our meltdowns, it’s over with now. Let’s enjoy the night.”

Harry sighs with a little harrumph and lowers his gaze. Louis loves his little pout and he wonders if Harry might be doing it on purpose a bit. Katie comes back a few minutes later with their bottle and two glasses. “I’ll give you guys a bit longer to look over the menu. I’ll be right back over soon.”

Harry takes the bottle and unscrews the cap, positions the glasses and lets the glistening liquid glug from the end of the bottle. He fills their glasses and downs his own almost to the bottom in one go.

“Bloody hell, love!” Louis smirks as he lifts his own glass to his lips. “Steady on.”

“I want to drink until I don’t feel pain anymore.” Harry says with an exaggerated sulking pout.

“Well, this is a classy establishment.” Louis looks around them. It’s not really, it’s just one of their locals. “Don’t besmirch the good Tomlinson name.”

Harry laughs slowly at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Louis plucks a menu from between the salt and pepper shakers and gazes at it, ignoring Harry’s petulant little sighs and soft kicks for attention under the table. He can see Harry tipping the very dregs of his glass into his mouth in his periphery and smiles softly to himself.

“So what do you fancy?”

“You.” Harry says immediately, and Louis yelps involuntarily with laughter.

“For God sake, Harry!” Louis sets down his menu and picks up his glass as his laughter dies down. “Shall we make a toast? Before you drink the whole bottle?”

“Yep,” Harry lifts his glass. He hadn't even looked at a menu yet. “To Imogen.  And to us two for being the best dad and papa in the world.” He pauses. “And to you, my gorgeous man, still killing it at thirty years of age. And to me, for putting up with you.”

Louis giggles in faux disbelief, his eyes wide. “More like the other way round, Styles.”

“Nuh-uh, _Tomlinson._ ” Harry corrects him with a smirk. “It’s the same name as yours, and I’ve had it for more than two years now, you should be able to remember it.”

“I dunno, it’s never too late to change you back to Styles.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You’d miss me too much.” Harry says back, and Louis doesn’t say anything back, though his soft, warm smile says that he would indeed miss Harry. “Anyway, last but by no means least, to all the mind-blowing sex we’ll be having later on!”

“Oh my God, Harry shush!” Louis blushes, wondering what’s come over his husband as they clink glasses together and he takes a timid sip.

Harry is pouring his second glass when Katie comes back over to take their food order.

/

With empty plates and their second bottle of wine open between them, Harry has calmed right down and Louis is well on his way to merry too. Harry has been rambling for what feels like a year about something or other that Louis isn’t one hundred percent sure on.

“So like, it wasn’t really… but it was y’know?”

“Uh, yeah, course. That’s… that’s cool.”

“Yeah, so like,” Harry begins to say, but as he pours the last of bottle number two into their glasses, he doesn’t bother to elaborate and they sit together in silence for a few moments, just watching each other. Louis may be drunk, and his Harry may look a little blurry and fuzzy around the edges, but he’s still as beautiful as they day they met.

“I feel like we’ve been so crazy since Immy was born.” Louis says eventually.

Harry takes a drink, sets down his glass and nods with his lips pursed. “I know. I feel like we’re just... roommates, sometimes.”

It’s Louis turn to nod sagely then. “Like passing ships in the night.”

“Like the night shift worker and the day shift worker at Royal Mail or… or Morrisons or somewhere like ‘at, y’know?” Harry mumbles. With a heavy out breath, he adds, “I miss you.”

“I’m right here.” Louis says, letting his shoulders slump, some relief from the pressure of sitting up straight all night.

“I know,” Harry says, hooking his foot around Louis’ ankle under the table. “But like, the real you, all the time. I miss you when you’re at work and I miss you when I’m out with Imogen an’ I miss you even when you’re here.”

“Remember when we went to Greece? That red sand beach?”

“Yeah, and the snorkelling!” Harry remembers fondly, his eyes lighting up. He smiles a wide, open-mouthed smile that remains for a while. “That was so good.”

“Remember my mum’s fiftieth?” Louis asks, referring to Jay’s fiftieth birthday party last year; he and Harry had got abominably drunk and sung karaoke to Whitney Houston, Dirrty by Christina Aguilera and Toxic by Britney, as well as many others. Harry had entertained the whole place with his uncoordinated, mistimed interpretation of the Macarena, and their routine to I’m Too Sexy was filmed by the majority of the guests and still makes an appearance every once in a while.

“God, don’t!” Harry cringes. If he is anything like Louis, his memories of that night after a certain point are solely based on other people's pictures, videos and anecdotes. Many, _many_ drinks were consumed and his own memories are hazy at best. “We were so embarrassingly drunk!”

“I know, I’m ashamed. I’m surprised mum didn’t disown me!”

“Lottie was just as bad!” Harry counters.

“Mmm, that she was.” Louis remarks, remembering Lottie starting up a Conga line and sitting down on the dance floor leading an ‘[Oops Upside Your Head](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOGE2SSNqfs)’ routine. “She’s embarrassing all round though!”

“Hey, she’s all right. She’s young, let her enjoy it.”

“All right, Mr President of the Lottie Tomlinson Fan Club, calm down!” Louis mutters with a giveaway fond grin. Harry’s always been closest to Lottie out of all his sister-in-laws; though he’d get into many a lengthy discussion with Fiz and take the twins wherever they wanted to go during the summer holidays. “I’m just jealous ‘cause I can’t remember what it’s like to be twenty four.”

“That’s true, it was many, _many_ years ago, after all.” Harry says, bracing himself for some form of retaliation from Louis. Without really thinking, Louis dips his two fingers into his glass and flicks droplets at Harry.

“Oi!” Harry shrieks, remembering himself at the last minute and shrinking down into his chair. “Shhh, stop! We’ll get thrown out!”

Harry throws his serviette across the table at him and tells him again to shut up. Louis catches it as it wafts into his lap, balls it up and pelts it back at Harry. "Stop it, you child!"

"Let's not forget the best day of our lives, though." Harry adds, catching the balled up tissue and straightening up in his chair. His head is tilted slightly to the side and his eyes are glazed.

"What? When United won the title back from City in 2013?"

"And proceeded to promptly lose it again the very next season? No." Harry answers quickly.

"All right smartarse, you must mean the day I saw Gary Lineker in Waitrose then?"

"No, you _didn’t_. It wasn't even him!"

"Yes it was. You weren't there, you didn't see him."

"It wasn't him, Lou."

"Yes it was. You're just jealous it was me and not you."

"Hypothetically speaking, _if_ you _did_ see him, you wouldn't have even been in Waitrose in the first place if it wasn't for me asking you to pick up the confit of duck, so you should be thanking me not insulting me."

Louis shudders at the memory of that duck meal and Harry laughs. "Well, process of elimination tells me you must be referring to our wedding day."

The way Harry's face lights up and his eyes soften as Louis mentions their wedding is everything for Louis. Drunk, angry, sad or bored; that look will _always_ brighten his day.

"Yes, that's the day I was thinking of."

"It _was_ a good day," Louis says, thinking of the heart-stopping nausea he'd felt that morning getting into his suit, the feeling of relief when they'd stood together at the front and said their vows, and their first dance. "Remember our first dance?"

"How could I forget?" Harry tips his head back and smiles.

"Daisy and Phoebe first," Louis says, laughing at the memory of all his sisters joining them one by one until by the end of 'Kiss Me' by Ed Sheeran, he and Harry had a twin on each leg clinging to them, Fizzy was tucked in next to Harry and Lottie plastered around Daisy; the two older girls forming a tight circle around the newlyweds and the two younger siblings.

They'd fallen into disarray trying to carry on slow dancing. A photo of Fizzy and Lottie mid-laugh with Phoebe stood on Harry’s feet and Daisy clinging to Louis’ leg, all six of them trying their hardest not to fall onto the shiny parquet dance floor hangs in both Jay and Anne's front rooms.

"I wonder how long it took you to realise you weren't just marrying me but my whole family?"

"Not long, babe, not long at all."

"I'm still sure Daisy has a crush on you, even despite, well..." Louis laughs as he runs his hands over his chest and smirks knowingly.

"Well, what can I say?"

"So modest!” Louis mutters to himself as Harry barks out an attention seeking laugh.

"You know I've only got eyes for one man." Harry says, leaning over to brush his fingers over Louis’. Louis blushes and shrugs; he loves Soppy Harry but Soppy Harry is also Embarrassing Harry and Inappropriate Harry. “C'mon, let’s get the bill; I want you home, now.”

/

The taxi drops them at the end of their street as neither could quite enunciate where they needed to be taken to. The air billows white from their mouths into the crisp late-November air as they stagger up the street.

The sound of Louis’ drunken giggles is all that fills the otherwise deserted suburban cul-de-sac. Harry hushes him frantically but ends up probably just adding to the noise not resolving it.

It’s hardly any distance at all to their front door but the journey is in no way straight forward.

"Haz!" Louis hisses, stopping suddenly and throwing out his arm, right into his unsuspecting husband’s abdomen.

"What?" He hisses back with a splutter and a cough.

"I wanna go McDonalds!" Louis informs him. "I wanna Zinger burger!"

"Uhh," Harry starts, taking about a million years to get anything out, as per usual. “That's KFC I think, love."

" _No_ , I said McDonalds. C'mon, it's not far!" Louis seems hell-bent on going to get food, even going as far as to start walking back in the opposite direction towards the retail park. ‘Not far’ in reality is probably still a good twenty minute walk, mind.

"No, it’s KFC that do Zinger burgers, Lou."

"What you on about, Harry?" Louis sounds annoyed and confused as he turns on his heel back towards their house, his craving for fast food apparently gone. “C’mon, let’s go home!”

And that’s the end of that.

They stagger along the pavement arm in arm, Harry getting dangerously close to the edge of the kerb more than once. Louis slips himself out from under Harry’s arm and spins around up the pathway in front of Harry. “C’mon my little Zinger burger, we’re almost home!”

“’m not little.” Harry mumbles as he strays over the pavement slightly, legs brushing against the hedges around the gardens they pass.

“No, you’re definitely not.” Louis says, eliciting a laugh from himself and an embarrassed little chuckle and pout from Harry that he catches in the glow of the street light.

Louis staggers up their garden path, checking twice that he’s at the right house, before slumping against the door face first, bringing up his arms like he’s giving the front door a cuddle.

"Key master!" He calls into the white uPVC, waiting to hear Harry’s boots clicking up the path behind him. It doesn’t come for a moment, and just as he’s about to assume his husband has got lost, he hears the little _click-clack._

“Louis, shush! The neighbours, you have t-to think of!” Harry slurs as he comes up behind him. Louis peels himself off the door and stands back to point at the lock, as if Harry wouldn't be able to locate it without his help.

"Keeper of the keys! Hagrid! No no, I’ve got it: ‘Hazgrid’!"

"Oi, stop callin' me Hagrid!" Harry pouts, selecting the key for the back door initially. “Or bloody _Hazgrid_ , what the hell is that?”

"It rhymes with Harry, doesn't it?" Louis makes sense in his head but at the same time he finds himself shaking his head in uncertainty. “Oi, well you've got Hagrid's hair so-"

"No! And no I bloody don't!" Harry whines as he jabs at the portal with hopefully the correct key this time. "Shut up or I won’t shag you."

"Shhh!" Louis suddenly hisses, putting a finger to his lips exaggeratedly. "You'll wake the- don’t say _that_ word! Someone might hear you! Wash your mouth out, honestly _Harold!_ "

The front door finally bursts open with Harry's fine key-selecting skills and Louis almost brains himself on the floor staggering over the threshold while trying to get his hands on Harry. The front door has barely slammed closed behind them before he gets to Harry.

The moonlight and the street light from the outside paints the hallway a very interesting mix of warm orange and cool blue; just enough for them to be able to see each other and not much else.

With the confidence and finesse that only being drunk can bring, Louis vaults off the ground and into Harry’s arms in an instant; one little bounce off the balls of his feet is all it takes. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and clamps his legs around his middle, pressing one urgent introductory kiss against his lips.

Harry, unsteady on his drunken feet, has to stagger back to catch him and acclimatise to his new Louis-shaped baggage, but doesn't drop him or send them both crashing to the floor, so that’s good enough.

"Nice catch, Tommo." Louis mutters as he pulls his lips from Harry’s.

Harry doesn’t really like the ‘Tommo’ nickname for himself, Louis knows that. Hell, he doesn’t even like Tommo for Louis. Louis has only called him Tommo on a handful of occasions since they've been married, but he is apparently letting this one slide this time and Louis hopes that’s because it was as fucking sexy to Harry as it was in his own head. Louis is starting to confuse himself, however, with all this thought and in his current state he only has a finite amount of space for thoughts.

“Nice jump, _Tommo_.” Harry says back, and Louis - surprised to not only get away with calling Harry Tommo but to be called Tommo back by Harry - raises his eyebrows a little before laughing and sinking his teeth into Harry's neck.

"You taste so good, I could just eat you." Louis mumbles into his neck, his words mostly unintelligible but he hopes Harry got the gist. Once he detaches himself, he mutters a quick instruction to move before pressing his lips back into Harry's.

Louis doesn't have time to fear for his life as Harry carries him up the stairs. With no lights on, with his vision impaired and his blood alcohol level way above the recommended limit, it was probably a very unwise idea, but before Louis can realise those facts, they’re barging through their bedroom door, Louis’ back first.

Harry lowers him onto the end of the bed, keeping one arm around his lower back for support the entire time. Louis lets his legs loosen from around Harry’s middle and digs his heels into the mattress to shuffle back as Harry lowers himself down on top of his body.

Harry attacks his mouth with urgent, insistent kisses. Their pillowy lips move together with quick introduction of tongues. Louis whines and sighs into Harry’s mouth absolutely insatiably, circling his hips ever so slightly beneath him.

As Harry ruts into him, he feels how hard he is and it makes Louis realise how restricted he feels in his jeans. Suddenly, it’s the only thing he can think about.

Having a brief interlude for Harry to scramble off him and remove his jeans is only a minor inconvenience, and Louis lifts his bum up off the mattress to remove his own jeans in that time.

Harry’s stars and stripes shirt is open almost all the way - unintentionally for once, several buttons unpopping presumably during their tussle.

Louis eases Harry off him for a second so he can twist himself out of his sweater. Once he’s naked, Harry lowers himself back down over him; Louis’ hands going immediately to the two remaining buttons of Harry’s shirt.

"Get it off," He instructs as the final button springs free, tugging at the edges of the fabric so it starts to slip off Harry’s shoulders. As much as Louis loves the shirt, he wants it off. Harry rolls back onto his heels and shakes off his shirt, discarding it to the floor.

Louis’ hands fly over every inch of Harry’s back as he comes back down once again. It feels like they've been kissing for hours, lips bruised and pink. When Louis pulls away for a breath, Harry looks as wrecked as he feels. His drunken buzz has waned and suddenly he just has to be _close_ to Harry; pull things right back.

"Baby," Harry utters, leaning down on one elbow and lifting his other hand into Louis' hair. He guides Louis' attention back to him and swallows as their eyes meet. As unbelievable and cheesy as it sounds, sometimes Louis’ breath is still taken away by this man, even after all this time together and it _still_ takes Louis by surprise. "Love you."

Louis’ heart fills with butterflies, their wings ablaze with flames that warm his heart immediately. "Love you too, babe."

They sort of hang, suspended in time for a moment, watching each other closely. Harry reaches out and rests his hand on the sharp edge of his jaw; his fingers just dipping into the newly cut hair around Louis' nape and his palm covering the strong, defined jaw that is already sporting a five o'clock shadow. His thumb pad reaches just under Louis' chin and he uses it to tilt his head up.

Harry presses another kiss into his lips, just one, before turning his head to the side so he can smother the skin of his neck with kisses. Louis writhes around on his side as Harry teases him, alternating between kisses, licks and bites.

With their jeans tangled together somewhere in the duvet at the foot of the bed, Harry moves his hand down Louis' body and wraps his hand innocuously around his cock.

Louis takes a sharp breath in with the contact, prompting him to put his own hands into action. He runs his hands down Harry's chest, between his nipples, down the crevices and distensions of his tummy before walking his two fingers across his hip, around his side and down to the beginning of the swell of his bum.

Louis sees Harry bite down on his bottom lip. His eyes flutter and the hitching of his breath is audible in the rest of the silence. Louis watches in awe as Harry reacts to every little movement of his fingers. He’s _so_ responsive, it just about kills Louis.

Harry’s hand begins to work him again after a moment; his palm is firm and his fingers lace around the head on the way up, sending tremors through Louis everytime without fail.

Louis uses his right hand to wrap around Harry too. With faltering breaths and nonsensical whispered mutterings they slowly and carefully wank each other to the cusp and let each other hover just on the edge.

“I want you t’ fuck me.” Louis says clearly, Harry nodding with his eyes closed. “And I want you to tease me with your cock.”

Louis flips them over so their positions are switched, giving three firm tugs on Harry’s cock before taking lube from the bedside drawer and turning to face towards the door, straddling himself across Harry’s lap. He hopes that the light is bouncing off his curves and settling in his contours just right.

Keeping his bum in the air, he coats three fingers messily with lube and reaches behind him for Harry’s cock. He runs his fingers over the tip and the first few inches, involuntarily squeaking when he feels Harry’s hands take himself from Louis and begin to more seriously smear his cock with lube. Louis stretches out on top of Harry, keeping his bum aloft and in the air as he slides his hands down Harry's thighs, over the bumps of his knees and down his shins, coming to a stop when his body is arched as far as it will comfortably go.

"Tease me,” Louis prompts him again. He rolls forward slightly then as he rocks back he feels the slick head of Harry’s cock push between his cheeks. The smeared head nudges at his crack and around his hole, the idea and the implication enough to have Louis trying to clench around nothingness. Harry nudges maybe half a millimeter or so in before moving himself again and running his length up Louis’ crack.

"Can't wait til you're inside me for real," Louis mutters into the duvet cover as he arches his back and drops his chest and head down. He continues to roll his hips back and forth, his thigh muscles like a vice around Harry's own.

"Gonna make you wait. Beggin’ for it." Harry says hoarsely, and Louis half-groans half-laughs as he rocks back again. As much fun as it is to fuck or be fucked, a little bit of light teasing is also nice.

He feels Harry’s hands move around to his hips. Louis drops his bum into Harry’s lap, feeling his rock hard cock against his cheeks.

"Love your bum." Harry mutters to him, his hands sliding over Louis' edges as he picks up handfuls of flesh in each palm. He squeezes more flesh and gives the left cheek a slap. He feels his cheek jiggle under Harry’s palm; the skin tingles and a paler impression of Harry’s palm is definitely left behind. He's reminded of the time he’d (semi) jokingly said he'd get Harry's slap print tattooed on his arse.

"I know you do baby," Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, who is sitting propped up on pillows with a spent, dazed look on his face and a hand now around his cock. "Do I look good when you fuck me? Tell me how good I look."

"Oh-hhh, God Lou, so fucking good." Harry rasps, moving his hand. “So good. So beautiful."

"And you’re gonna fuck me tonight, yeah?" He swings one knee over and seamlessly turns himself back round to face Harry. He settles between the V of Harry’s open legs, barely giving him any time to register anything before the head of his cock is enveloped in his mouth.

He licks away the last lingering licks of synthetic-tasting slick, and elicits a broken sob from Harry almost immediately. He suckles the tip until it’s exposed, then really sets about working it over. He deep throats Harry like it's the only thing he knows; the head of Harry’s cock hitting the warm, fleshy back of his throat repeatedly.

He bobs up and down rhythmically, one hand supporting the act and the other digging coarsely into the flesh of Harry’s inner thigh. As Harry thickens and really begins to fill the crater of his mouth, he blinks his blue eyes closed, feeling the sting behind his lids.

He’d told Harry rather shamelessly the second time they'd _ever_ met that he could deep throat but _not_ with his eyes open, and later that night Harry had experienced, for the first time, the moment at about three quarters of the way down when Louis’ glazed over, watery blue eyes fluttered closed.

During any other sober blow job, Louis might let out a little hum or do some heavy sighing over Harry, but right now isn't any other time. This is bloody hot. He moans and groans insatiably as he sucks, twisting his tongue around the head with an open-mouthed 'uhhhh' and sinking back down with a closed-mouthed 'hmmmm'.

"Jesus, Lou, I’m gonna..." Harry can't finish that sentence, and Louis sinks down to the base of his cock, stilling as Harry shoots ribbons down the back of his throat. He keeps his eyes tightly glued shut as he swallows down the tart, salty liquid.

“Fuck me,” He mutters as Harry slides out of his mouth. He comes up Harry’s body and connects their lips again, licking his way into Harry’s mouth against his tongue and letting him taste himself. “Open me up, I want to be fucked.”

He drops into the space in the bed next to Harry and pats around for the lube. "Gotcha," He murmurs to himself as his fingers find the bottle. He drops it onto Harry's chest, as if _‘I want to be fucked’_ wasn’t clear enough.

As Harry's first finger breaches his hole, Louis’ throat constricts and he gasps, swallowing hard. "All right baby?" Harry pauses, his finger inside to about the first joint.

Louis shudders with desire and nods earnestly. He stares deep into Harry’s eyes, hoping to convey just how okay he really is. "Yeah. More, _please._ "

Whether it’s been three hours or three weeks, Louis is always screamingly tight and like a virgin again. Harry works his first finger in a bit more and after a moment, Louis' iron grip on his left shoulder relents a little and Harry tentatively goes to add number two.

“Yeah, please, please.” Louis whines into Harry’s shoulder, encouraging him to add the digit.

He holds his breath while finger number two enters him; he wonders if Harry can feel his heart hammering in his chest even though there is still a millimeter or two's distance between them, because Louis wouldn't be surprised if he could.

"So good..." He repeats into Harry’s scalding hot skin, each word more whispery and rambled than the last. "Open me up, baby."

Harry curls the very ends of his two fingers around as he fucks down, dragging high-pitched murmurs from Louis each time his fingertips brush across his prostate. He shudders through the aftershocks of the stimulation and feels himself flutter involuntarily around Harry’s fingers as he pushes against his resistance and wiggles the two digits inside the restricted space.

Louis' murmurs become shudders that become shouts as Harry works him through that extra bit of burn. Finger number three slides in alongside the other two and Louis cries out with the addition, his legs falling open even further and his spine pressing down into the mattress firmly. The little squelching noise _should_ be embarrassing, but for Louis it’s just synonymous with the best feeling ever.

“I’m ready, fuck, I- I’m so fucking ready babe,” He insists, grabbing blindly at Harry’s flesh, almost unconscious with how badly he wants him. Needs him.

Harry looks up at him. His eyes are focussed and absolutely dark, and he, luckily, doesn't need to be told twice.

Slowly Harry removes his fingers and lets the pad of his index finger linger over Louis’ hole. He feels himself quivering desperately, trying to regain the intrusion that had just left him.

Harry’s fingers are good, but his cock is a whole other animal, quite literally sometimes. He’s big, like inches bigger and millimeters wider than anyone Louis had ever had before; Harry often leaves him breathless and crying out almost woundedly when he bottoms out.

Louis climbs back onto his knees and holds himself over Harry’s cock, feeling Harry direct the head towards his puckered, pink hole. “Ready for you.” He says, softly and brokenly. It sends shivers skittering over Louis’ entire plane of exposed flesh.

Harry’s cock is slick and ready for him with lube; Louis rocks his hips backwards and reaches round to take hold of Harry himself. He guides the head past the tight ring of muscle and he pants as the sensation knocks the breath out of him.

“All right, baby?” Harry murmurs. Louis sees stars and feels Harry’s hands slide around his hips as he sinks down past the initial inch or two of Harry’s head. Harry grips his hips tighter as if he’s about to go floating off into the stratosphere.

"Fuck… y-yeah," Louis breathes heavily, pausing for a moment to adapt to the width and the general feeling of being filled up, even if he’s not even half way down yet. "Feel so full."

He clenches uncontrollably as he sinks down on the remaining inches. His chest fills with air and he can finally breathe again once he bottoms out and he feels the pressure of Harry against his walls. He uses his shoulder to wipe away a sheen of sweat from his brow.

Harry’s chest is flushed and pink beneath him; he gazes innocently up at him, clearly willing to accept full responsibility for Louis’ death, with that look.  

Tucking his toes under Harry’s thighs, he finally begins to move again, hands wrapped tight around the headboard of the bed as the drag of Harry’s cock burns for just a moment.

Harry’s fingertips press pale white marks into his hips as he rocks his hips back and forth, fucking himself on his cock. He slides up and down, blind from the heat and the drag and his own frankly impossible tightness.

Harry’s hands move from around his hips to his tummy, up his sides and tight around his shoulders as he communicate without words that he wants him to drop down to his level.

Obligingly, Louis lets go of the headboard, leaving behind a clammy handprint, and lowers himself onto Harry’s body, his cock hard between their bodies. In contrast to normalcy, when Louis has the soft scratchy scruff, the slight tickle on Harry’s chin and upper lip feels like electricity, setting his skin alight. Harry’s smooth, soft tongue slips up his earlobe before a soft nibble sends shivers down his neck and spine.

The new angle hits Louis completely differently, and Harry bucks his hips up at the same time he sinks down, creating an explosion within him that feels so good it almost ends him.

"Babe, I'm gonna come, I'm so... fucking close." Harry utters into his neck, strangled and spent. Louis angles himself back up again, straightening his arms and shifting forward with Harry as he sits up too. With their bodies close but not quite touching, Louis grabs Harry’s hands and lifts them above his head, pinning him down at the wrists.

As a reaction to having his ability to touch removed, Harry whines insatiably into the space between them and repeats, "Serio- babe, I'm so close, fuck..."

Louis bounces on Harry’s cock; his stuttering hips thrusting into him and Louis quickly feels warmth blossom and bloom within him. He finally releases Harry’s hands as he comes for a second time.

They both breathe heavily and let out little gasps and nonsense words as Harry wraps his hand desperately around Louis’ cock. Harry almost immediately gets incoherent with the tossing and loses his rhythm on Louis’ cock. Louis adds his own hand to the equation too and slips his fingers through Harry’s as they work him towards his orgasm together; if every second or third go is mismatched and out of sync, it's almost impossible to tell or care for that matter.

Louis thighs and arse clench around Harry as he comes, burning hot streamers splattering against his tummy and his hand and probably in other places too. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip as the final few aftershocks fizzle away inside him and his vision begins to clear.

"Fuckin’, that was..." Harry speaks first; presumably there is more to that sentence but Louis doesn't push it. He can fill in the blanks himself.

Harry is still inside of Louis, softening rapidly, and by the time they actually make moves to start cleaning up, he slips out easily.

They clean themselves up temporarily with a packet of baby wipes Harry finds under the bed, even though it’s _definitely_ not their intended use. They dump the soiled wipes on the bedside table, because they’re disgusting and married like that.

“All right, love?" Harry asks, apparently without the energy to lift his head off the pillow.

"Thought you said I'd have t'work for that," Louis says, biting his tongue between his teeth with a smile. "Change your mind?"

"Yeah, well..." Harry, though breathless as he is, stifles a laugh and conceited or not Louis feels good. "Plans change."

Louis snorts, gently biting at Harry’s exposed shoulder, just because. "Well, I'm very grateful.”

"Good," Harry says quickly, reaching out to tilt Louis’ chin up towards him. He gives him a quick kiss and says "Love you."

"Love you too, babe." Louis says back without hesitation.


End file.
